Secrets Secrets Are No Fun Unless You Tell Tony Stark
by Is you heart in the game
Summary: When Clint discovers a secret of Natasha's past that involves him, it throws off their equilibrium. Will they get past the obstacle, or will their relationship change forever? And, most importantly, how Natasha ever come up with the phrase "mission sex?"
1. Prologue

**Author's note: As of the first few chapters, this story is rated PG-13. **

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It was a special kind of night at Avengers Tower.

Our heroes had just rid the city of another nefarious criminal. Fred Stone (which Tony declared was a "shitty" alias) was the boss of a highly successful and incredibly secretive prostitution business. It had been a long and difficult operation to nab the criminal, but the Avengers knew they especially had to thank Natasha and Clint for their success. The SHIELD agents' stealth training had proved vital to the operation. Banner may have been able to act a different part if he absolutely had to, but Thor and Tony didn't do stealth- it simply wasn't their style.

Because another baddie was off the streets and the heroes had been granted some time off, Tony had decided they needed to party.

Stark had never seen the deadly Black Widow drunk in his life. She completely lacked the ability to relax, but it seemed like the copious amounts of alcohol she'd already ingested were forcing her to sit still and stop her constant vigilant stance.

Tony shifted his eyes from the redhead to the man next to her. Natasha's head was back in uncontrolled laughter, her cheeks flushed and tears streaming down her face. Barton sat with one hand on her knee and the other holding his second beer, his eyes trained absently on her face.

The partners never got wasted at the same time, some kind of agreement they'd worked out long before Tony had met them. They were two of the most mistrustful people he'd ever seen, but sometime during their years of partnership they'd developed a trust more powerful than the arc reactor.

He wondered when they'd finally get their shit together and just get _married_ already.

"Huh?" Steve asked beside him. Realizing he'd spoken aloud, Tony quickly spat out an excuse and tapped Pepper with his foot.

"Did I mention how gorgeous you looked today?" he batted his eyes at her, and she smirked, feeling slightly drunk herself.

"Stark, it's your turn." Natasha ordered, taking a long chug from her cup.

He fought to control his evil smile. She was a treasure trove of secrets that was locked up tighter than Fort Knox, but maybe while she was drunk she wouldn't be quite so protective of the goods.

"Natasha."

"Narcissistic bastard." She acknowledged.

"I-" he frowned at her. "Whatever. Where and when was your first time?"

He hated secrets- not when they were his, but when other people kept them from him. Natasha never told him anything, not even the time of day if he asked. If she was drunk enough to tell him something like this, he'd use it against her as much as possible in the future.

He realized when she opened her mouth that he should clarify a point. "After the Red Room."

Her mood dipped upon mention of the place, as it always did, and the other Avengers held their breath. Was Tony crazy, mentioning that place so carelessly in front of the Russian spy?

Thankfully her drunken state allowed her to forgive and forget rather quickly. She leaned into her partner's side like she needed a little break.

"You don't want to know that." She slurred in Tony's direction. He realized that she was probably the drunkest one in the room right now, even though he was quickly catching up.

"Uh, yeah. I do."

"Why, jealous?" she smirked at him.

He raised an eyebrow. He'd made a big deal over her body when she'd first signed on as his assistant, but he was already hopelessly devoted to Pepper at that point and just trying to keep her in the dark about it. "Not at all." He planted a messy kiss on his girlfriend's cheek, and she let out a drunken giggle. He smiled widely- sober Pepper _never _giggled.

"Did anyone ever notice that all of the females present have red hair?" Thor randomly interjected. He was surrounded by mugs of some drink he'd brought with him from Asgard. The other Avengers were forbidden to touch the stuff; apparently one sip would have them at death's door.

"I was 18." Natasha said, regaining Tony's attention.

"Huh." He'd been younger then her, then, at his first time.

Noticing his gaze, she waved a dismissive hand. "I was 13 when I lost my virginity. But you said out of the Red Room, so I was 18."

Barton, who'd been in the middle of sipping his beer, spit it out in a rather unceremonious fashion. "You never told me that. 13? Christ."

She shrugged indifferently, her eyes stormy.

"Who was it with?" Tony pried, twirling a strand of Pepper's hair around his finger.

Natasha had gone off to another world, so Tony took off his shoe and threw it in her general direction. It was a move that would have landed Tony in the hospital on any other occasion, but right now she seemed to have missed the assailant's identity. "Huh?"

"Who. Did. You. Sleep. With."

"Oh." Natasha shrugged nonchalantly. "Barton."

The poor archer had just attempted another sip of beer when she spoke, and out came another mouthful all over the floor. "_What?_"

The room went relatively silent.

"You know you're gonna have to tell the story now, right?"

_Please, please,_ please_, tell us the story,_ Tony silently begged her. He didn't think he'd ever been so curious about anything in his life. He'd always suspected that the partners had slept together once or twice, but he never thought his suspicions would ever be confirmed.

Natasha huffed like this was a huge inconvenience to her. She glanced at her partner, who had removed his hand from her knee and was now looking a little green in the face. "Can I?"

He shrugged wordlessly, and Natasha began speaking, slurring the occasional word as she told her story of many years ago…

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**Thanks to DonutRain00 for fixing a grammar issue.**


	2. Spies at Work

18-year old Natasha Romanoff dabbed at a stray spot of lipstick on the left corner of her mouth. She closely examined her smoky eyes and extended lashes, searching for flaws. The first step tonight was making sure her appearance was perfect, and she'd taken every measure to ensure this.

She buried her hands in the soft fabric of her midnight blue evening dress, noting that it was probably the most beautiful thing she'd ever worn. Her long red hair was done up in an elegant style adorned with sparkling pins, and the fancy shoes she wore would no doubt give her blisters as soon as they set foot in the ballroom.

She heard the door open behind her and whirled around. "_Finally_. How is it that I'm a woman and yet I'm always ready before you?"

Agent Barton strolled in carelessly, his tuxedo looking prime and proper and his dress shoes clicking cheerfully on the floor. "We both know I need a lot more work than you, Tasha."

She inwardly scowled. He'd started using nicknames to address her about two months ago, and she couldn't get him to stop. She'd recently begun ignoring him in an attempt to make him think it didn't bother her anymore, but she was finding it increasingly difficult to hide her irritation.

Agent Coulson came entered the room next. Natasha felt she was being generous by calling it a room; it was more of a hallway, intended as a final point of briefing before agents set off on a mission.

"Robert and Megan Strong." Coulson stated, and the two younger agents nodded. "I trust you've worked out your past histories, but remember to only give details when you need to. We don't need the whole mission ruined because one of you said basketball and the other said football."

Natasha shut her eyes in impatience. They'd been reminded of this at least three times on the plane.

"Michael Osborne has arranged for all of his guests to stay in a nearby hotel after the party. His hotel will be down the block, but he'll arrive at yours tomorrow morning to host a breakfast. Get as much information as you can while you're undercover, but if you find an opportunity to get him alone, take it and get him back here."

They nodded again.

"Okay, this is where I say goodbye and good luck. You still have a few minutes to prepare if you need them." The older man left, and Natasha immediately faced the boy beside her.

"What's my maiden name?"

"Turner." Barton answered without hesitation.

"Occupations?"

"You're a middle school English teacher and I'm a dentist." They'd decided on the jobs because they were unsuspicious; they'd gained favor with the group at the party through family connections and not wealth.

"What colleges did we graduate from?" They threw questions at each other rapid-fire style, slowly growing confident that the other had done all of his or her homework.

Finally Natasha checked the time and straightened up. "We should get going."

Barton reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny plastic bag that held two rings. "How long have we been married?"

"Two months today." Natasha said, accepting the ring he gave her. "Should we put them on each other?"

Barton stared at her for a moment before he realized she was joking. Natasha Romanoff joked about as much as a mime talked, but more and more she seemed to be developing a sense of humor. Even if it was a little off.

He chuckled as they put the matching wedding bands on and finally emerged outside. Natasha pulled her shawl tighter around her bare shoulders and immediately took Barton's hand.

They passed the two blocks' worth of walking in idle conversation, both completely in character. They'd practiced this easy way of talking for three hours during the flight to Florida, and it was paying off.

They finally arrived at an impressive-looking building with at least five limousines parked out front, and Natasha felt grateful that they were portraying a more middle-class couple. She hated being enclosed in cars with tinted windows.

They ascended the red-carpeted steps and a man with a clipboard looked them over. "Name?"

"Robert Strong. This is my wife, Megan."

The bearded man waved them through to the lobby, where a multitude of people were already engaging each other in conversation.

Natasha had played one of those people before, but tonight she was to look intimidated at the richness of the materials around her. She and Barton hesitantly approached the table in the center of the room, where a blonde woman smiled kindly at them. "Names?"

"Robert and Megan Strong." Barton answered again.

The woman handed them two place cards and a key. "You're at table ten, and Mr. Osborne has booked a room for you in the hotel in case you can't drive home, or are just having too much fun to leave." She winked, and Natasha smiled broadly at her fake spouse.

"Oh, how nice!" she gushed about what a nice man Mr. Osborne was, pretending she'd had no idea about the hotel room, and Barton looked at her with admiring eyes.

They entered the grand ballroom, casting their eyes about the ceiling to take in the grandeur. Natasha had been in several high-class operations before, but she had to admit the room was impressive. The walls were a soothing cream color with floor-to-ceiling windows that held a spectacular view of the surrounding landscape. If this were a simple assassination mission, it would already be over. Even she could have made a kill shot as effective as Hawkeye's through these windows.

She felt a little bad for Barton. Undercover missions were her specialty, not his. But the day he brought her back to SHIELD his job specialty had changed from "master archer" to "Black Widow's babysitter." The first year of her capture she'd spent training and earning the agency's trust until Barton's begging on her part had finally gotten her out into the field. Solo missions were more common for her, as anyone Fury tried to partner with the former Russian spy flat-out refused the work. She'd actually witnessed him fire two people for their adamant refusals, and Natasha had stood in the corner and watched impassively.

It hurt her, deep down in her soul where she hid the emotions she just couldn't quite get rid of. She understood their distrust, but surely they knew that the life she'd been born into wasn't her choice. But coming to Shield was a decision entirely her own, and she worked hard to earn her place there. Still, no one went near her in the halls, or said hello in the morning, or gave her the time of day if she asked.

No one except Barton.

He'd trusted her since day one, when he disobeyed a direct order to put her down and instead took her back with him to meet Fury. It was a dangerous, incredibly stupid, irresponsible move, and no one understood why he'd done it. She often wondered if he even knew why he didn't kill her.

She'd asked him why once and he'd just blinked and walked away. She hadn't bothered asking again, no matter how much she wanted to know. And now, on dual mission number five, she still wanted to know. She was even warming to the term "partners," since it was unlikely that she'd be working directly with anyone else in the near future. And she could admit that they worked well together. Every training session and mission helped them to study each other's favorite moves and greatest skills. This information alone meant that he probably knew her better than anyone else, regardless of how little they knew about one another's personal lives.

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**This chapter and the next were originally one document, but I split it into two chapters because it was too long. So that's why there's such an awkward cut off. I'll post the next chapter in three or four days. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Mission Sex

They made their way to the open bar, which was only serving champagne, and ordered two glasses. The bartender didn't ask for ID (Natasha was about 3 years underage while Clint was only a few months), but she suspected their gracious host had instructed him not to.

"Hello there!" Speak of the devil, Natasha thought, and gave a nervous smile to the mustached man in front of her.

"Good evening," she said.

"And who might you lovely young couple be?" Osborne's eyes swept them up and down.

"I'm Robert Strong, and this is my wife Megan." Barton introduced again. Natasha smiled slightly; they hadn't planned on him introducing them to everyone, but it certainly was charming.

"Well, my dear Robert, you're a very lucky man. How long have you two been married?"

Natasha squeezed her fake husband's hand and beamed up at him. "Two months today."

The man raised his glass in their direction. "Then there's even more cause to celebrate!"

Natasha laughed and took a sip of champagne. She wished she could gag; she'd always hated the taste of it. "Someone at the door said you've just made a great business venture…is that what we're celebrating?"

Clint slid his eyes to her face, noting the directness of the question. Her body language sold her character so convincingly that Osborne didn't even blink. Her eyes may have been on the older man, but every other part of her was turned towards the archer.

If SHIELD didn't work out for Natasha, he'd push her to be an actress. He'd come up with a clever stage name for her…maybe something like "Scarlett" to compliment her hair?

"Indeed, my dear. I recently acquired ownership of a company I've been trying to buy out for years. I finally convinced the owner to sell it to me!" His laugh was cruel. The agents knew all about his recently purchased manufacturing company. Apparently the previous owner had died under "mysterious circumstances." It was just the latest in a long line of suspicious deaths all linked to Osborne.

The agents chatted with the older man for a few minutes before he left to converse with the other guests. They sipped their champagne quietly in the corner, occasionally speaking to each other or the other guests nearby. No one seemed to know anything about the cause of the celebration; they just showed up to make connections and be seen.

The night dragged on. They both went back for a second glass, but neither drank more than a few sips of it. Natasha's feet were cramped and blistered, and since she figured it was within her character to let some of the pain slip to her face, she did just that.

They decided to leave about an hour after the first few guests had begun to trickle out. Osborne shook Barton's hand and kissed Natasha's palm at the door.

"Did you have a good time?"

"Oh, yes!" Natasha said, and Clint wondered how she was able to make her eyes shine on command.

"I'm so glad. I'll make sure to put Mr. Strong and his beautiful wife on the permanent guest list." Natasha couldn't tell if he was serious or not, so she just assumed he was saying it to all the departing guests. "Now, Robert, you should take your wife to your room. She looks a little tired."

The older man smirked, and Natasha's cheeks colored with fake embarrassment. Clint also wondered how she could blush on command. He'd tried making her blush in earnest a few times, but he was never successful. It wasn't like he tried it often; he did value his life, and death was always close by when one tried to flirt with the Black Widow.

Natasha clung to his arm during the short walk to the hotel, tripping as though she was half intoxicated and half pained.

They checked in at the hotel lobby, waving to the few party guests they recognized in the lounge on their way to the elevator.

Natasha sagged against Barton immediately when the doors closed on the empty elevator. She knew there were cameras installed above them, but she felt this was appropriate for any woman to do after a long night.

Barton wrapped one arm around her waist and ran a hand through her hair, knocking a few of her pins out of place. She relaxed into his touch because it's what Megan would have done, and it actually felt very nice (not that she would ever admit that to him, or anyone else).

The silence of the hallway that greeted them when the doors opened was absolute, and they turned two corners before finding themselves at room 816. It had a small entry way that led into a decently-sized bedroom painted a tasteful hunter green color.

The two spies relaxed when the door shut behind them. Natasha immediately kicked the offending heels off her feet and flexed her toes up and down while Clint set to work removing his bowtie. Exhausted, he watched her carefully fold her shawl on the table and peek outside through the drapes before she finally entered the bathroom.

Clint kicked his own shoes off and pulled out a chair, idly gazing at the hotel's offered magazines and room service menu. His hand brushed against her shawl, and his eyes swept over a black spot on the wall right above it. One glance was enough to alert him that the spot did not belong on the wallpaper. He casually stretched and ran his eyes around the rest of the room, noticing for the first time that Natasha had left the bathroom door slightly ajar and was running the sink at full blast.

He put a faint grin on his lips and entered the small bathroom, shutting the door behind him. His expression turned business-like once they were truly alone for the first time in several hours.

"There's cameras, at least two."

"There are three." Natasha said without a trace of doubt. She sat on the edge of the bathtub, her dress bunched up around her. "One by the windows, one in the painting directly across from that, and one above the table."

Clint huffed and turned his head to the side, forcing himself not to feel irritated that she'd noticed before he had. "I guess now we know why Osborne so generously decided to give all his guests hotel rooms."

"He's either more paranoid than we thought, or he was expecting a few spies at this party." Natasha speculated.

"Maybe there are more than just us here." Clint suggested quietly, and the two thought for a moment in silence. "We're gonna have a hell of a job getting him tomorrow."

"Mhmm…" Natasha agreed. She abruptly stood up and turned around, indicating that she wanted Clint to unzipper the back of her dress. "So are you ready then?"

"For what?" he asked blankly, unzipping only half of the dress so she could finish the job herself in private.

"For continuing our job?" she raised an eyebrow at him. "Did you forget that we're a newly married couple, deeply in love, who have just had a wonderful night of drinking and socializing and now have nothing left in the night to look forward to besides an empty hotel room?"

Clint blinked.

Once.

Twice.

"You're talking about having sex."

Natasha looked at him like he was slow. "No, I thought we'd play a nice game of Parcheesi before bed."

The joke was actually worth a chuckle, but he couldn't seem to produce a sound.

She misinterpreted his hesitation. "Don't tell me you're a virgin."

He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm _not_. I just-"

"Married couples have sex, Barton. It's not that strange."

"Yeah, _actual _married couples. Not fake ones who are only married for one night."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Does the thought of having sex with me disgust you that much?"

"Don't play that card."

Natasha began plucking the pins from her hair, sending long red curls spiraling down past her shoulders. "Barton, I know this kind of thing isn't your specialty. But you're still an agent, and we still have a job to do. We've already been in this bathroom for too long, so pull yourself together."

Clint felt his temper rising. "Don't lecture me, Natasha. I'm sorry that casual sex isn't one of my pastimes."

"It's not casual sex- it's mission sex."

He stared at her. "Mission sex. You actually coined the term mission sex?"

He finally detected a rare trace of embarrassment on her face, and filed it away in his mental 'Natasha's facial expressions' folder.

"Sometimes you have to do things that defy your character, Barton. It doesn't change who you are."

"Don't _lecture_ me!" He slammed his palm on the wall next to her head.

Something changed in her expression, and her eyes jumped from his hand to his eyes.

"Please, Clint. I can't fail a mission until I've gained everyone's trust."

It was probably the first time she'd ever used his first name. "Stellar acting. Really. I almost shed a tear."

Now she was angry. "It wasn't acting, asshole. Do you really think I'd be where I am right now if I wasn't trying to change? Do you really think I'd be suggesting this if I wasn't doing my job?"

Clint threw her earlier words right back in her face. "Does the thought of having sex with me really disgust you that much?"

"You are _infuriating_," she hissed in his face

They stayed like that a moment, each breathing angrily in the other's face.

Natasha tried the last tactic she could think of. "I promise you this won't change anything between us. No one will be wronged; no one's feelings will be hurt. We are simply our characters tonight."

He shut his eyes briefly. She wondered why he had such strong feelings against casual sex, and was surprised to find that she actually cared enough to be speculating on the matter. He was the closest thing she had to a friend, and he'd really grown on her the past few months.

"Okay," he said quietly, and Natasha's eyes snapped up to meet his. "On one condition."

"What?"

"We're partners from here on out. We work together, train together, and actually make an effort to get to know each other."

"Partners." She repeated, trying the word aloud.

"Partners." He agreed.

"Will we be getting matching uniforms?" she asked dryly, and he laughed. She decided he didn't have such a terrible smile. And then she noticed how close they'd been standing in the tiny room, and realized that she'd actually lost track of her body for a few minutes since she'd been so engrossed by responding to his.

"Can you dilate your pupils on command, too?" Clint had intended it to be a lighter comment, but it came out sounding very serious.

Her eyes were fixed on his mouth. "No."

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**Next chapter will be out in a week or less. Please review and share your thoughts!**


	4. Cleaning Up

"Don't stop there!" Tony complained loudly, spilling a generous amount of beer on the floor.

"No, I think that's a perfect place to end the story." Steve grimaced.

"But I-" Tony stopped, finally noticing what had caught Natasha's attention in the first place. Even when she was drunk her senses were better than his.

"Oh, please. Don't stop on my account." Bruce stood awkwardly in the doorway, his suit jacket strewn over one arm. Clearly he hadn't expected the entire team to be gathered in this particular spot.

"Where have you been?" Steve asked, stone-cold sober after four beers.

"I had a meeting with some of the scientists at SHIELD. I'm afraid to ask, but is there anything left in the fridge, alcohol or otherwise?"

Thor chuckled loudly nearby.

"Right. Diner tomorrow, anyone?"

Everyone cheered, and Bruce smiled to himself. They certainly would have a different mindset come tomorrow.

"Brucey! Natashalie and Legolas had sex!"

Bruce blinked at Tony. "Um, okay…"

"It's true; Tasha just told us!"

"Don't call me Tasha." The redhead said, trying to look dangerous despite her inability to focus.

Tony pouted. "Barton calls you Tasha."

"He's allowed." She slurred, attempting to stand up and falling over sideways as she did so. Clint sighed and helped her up, slinging her onto his back when she proved too uncoordinated to walk properly.

"See you in the morning, Nattie!" Tony gleefully called after her. Normally she would have chased him down and beaten him senseless, but now she lacked the energy to do anything more than flip him off.

"We're going to bed, too." Pepper declared, dragging her boyfriend to his feet. The two stumbled their way to the elevator, and right before the doors shut Pepper could be seen laughing hysterically at something Tony said that probably wasn't very funny.

"So…" Bruce said, looking around the stuffy, trash-strewn room in confusion. "What exactly did I miss tonight?"

Steve grabbed a garbage bag and proceeded to dump several handfuls of bottles and plastic cups inside. "Tony got Natasha to talk about the first time she ever made love outside of the Red Room. Apparently it was when she was 18 and on a mission with Barton."

"And let me guess: she did it for the sake of the mission." Bruce shook his head, not needing confirmation. "Well, maybe this will give them incentive to talk about the present."

Clint and Natasha's strange and trustful partnership often hinted at romantic tendencies, something that did not go unnoticed by the other team members. But since the agents lacked any serious personal communication skills, they remained either oblivious to their behavior or too stubborn to admit it.

A loud slam brought the sober men's attention to the only other person in the room. "I tire of this conversation! I, too, shall return to my quarters for the night." With that announcement, Thor made a grand exit to the elevator, where he tripped and practically smacked his skull into the wall.

Steve tied a knot on the trash bag and said goodnight to Bruce, who'd found a water bottle in the very back of the fridge and was drinking a generous amount of it all in one gulp.

When he finally came up for air, he settled on the couch, thinking about the night's events. His brow furrowed as he considered Natasha and Clint's situation. As a scientist, he spent a great deal of time trying to answer questions that couldn't be answered. He loved figuring things out, fixing things, helping people, but he'd never tried experimenting on a social or emotional level because the risks were so much higher. But perhaps with the agents, if he was very careful, he could give them the gentle push they needed to realize their feelings for one another. He stretched his feet out in front of him, the first tendrils of a course of action floating through his head.

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"Ugh," Natasha groaned as Clint dropped her on her bed. Tony had taken the liberty of decorating her room in bright colors, probably because he assumed she'd hate it, but she quite liked the pale yellow walls and frilly curtains (not that she'd ever admit it out loud). The only thing that didn't match the light and airy feel of the room was the bedspread, which consisted of reds and blacks that formed a curious hourglass shape.

"It's on the back of black widow spiders. You know, so you have something the fans can put on a T-shirt." Stark had said pleasantly, oblivious to Natasha's horror at the word 'fans.'

Her eyelids drooped immediately after she stretched out, digging her hands into the soft fabric of the comforter. She opened her eyes to find her partner gazing down at her with an unfamiliar expression, which he quickly replaced with a neutral one. He wordlessly handed her a glass of water, and she sat up to sip at it.

He bit his lip, knowing this wasn't the time but unable to help himself. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

She shrugged, kicking off her shoes. "You didn't want to ever talk about it again. So I didn't."

"No, _you _didn't ever want to talk about it. I tried to bring it up several times after the mission. So why did you finally mention it tonight, after almost 10 years?"

"I don't know," she said, her tone changing from the sleepy drawl she'd been favoring. "Maybe it's time to finally start talking."

She stood up with difficulty and lifted her shirt over her head. Clint averted his eyes respectfully, assuming she was changing into her pajamas, but suddenly she turned his face in her direction.

He wasn't entirely sure how to react to her close proximity or the generous amount of cleavage she was showing him. She was clad only in a pair of leggings and a polka-dotted bra, leaning over him with half-closed eyes.

"Tasha-" he didn't know why he hadn't been prepared for it, but suddenly her lips were on his, her hands coursing down his chest. He allowed himself three seconds to enjoy the moment, his own hands traveling down her torso and along her arms, before he abruptly pulled away.

"This isn't talking."

"Who said anything about talking?" she asked, leaning towards him again. He firmly detached himself and took two steps back, latching his eyes onto her face.

"You did. And I think your soberness was running through for a brief moment before you buried it again."

She grunted in response, clearly not paying attention.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Go to bed, Tasha. If you're in the mood to actually talk tomorrow, come see me."

He left her standing there, part drunk, part asleep, and part turned on, in her mismatched bedroom at 2 A.M., wondering if she'd even acknowledge that the entire night had even happened in the future.

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**I'm back on campus and my days will get much busier, but I will update when I can. Thanks for reading! Please review!**


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